


trying to think of something colorful for this season

by gumibea



Series: drive it like you stole it [3]
Category: X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Sort Of, like very very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gumibea/pseuds/gumibea
Summary: "But love consumes me through this endless night."- Attar of Nishapur, from "the Conference of the Birds"
Relationships: Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Lee Hangyul
Series: drive it like you stole it [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638265
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	trying to think of something colorful for this season

*

It was a midnight summer towards the end of July, Seungyoun woke up to the chilling tune of his phone signaling there’s a text message. It wasn’t the heat that kept him from sleeping soundly because the air-conditioner was still running, it was rather the recurring dreams he has been having lately. An early morning on the beach. A late afternoon of birdsong and playful wind. The setting sun cast its orange and too much like tangerine rays down upon the cotton candy clouds, turning them into a dissolved glass of raspberry juice mix. Silhouettes of birds flew across the magenta sky and shadows of the palm trees flickered between each flow of the wind from the land to the sea. The silky sheen hair that looked like it was red as the fiery red orb of light slowly sank beneath the horizon. The graceful fingertips dancing on his upper arms. The gentle and suave smile, along with a loving gaze directed at him. Everything was packed in rowdy dreams, so vibrant that it hurt Seungyoun when he opened his eyes.

The text was short. Only three familiar words.

_I miss you._

Seungyoun knows who sent the message even though the screen displayed an unsaved number. The person who typed out this three word message is not someone who would say how he feels without any uneasiness, he must have slept on these words for a while, contemplating when he should press the “send” button. The man in his summer dreams, from the day they met, then walking with their hands interlocked on the path that finally led to the heartbreak station, till now doesn’t seem to change. This was the second time he said he missed Seungyoun. The first time had gone far too long yet Seungyoun still craved it in the back of his mind like a burnt wound, he still remembers the sound, the light, the scent and the tingling sensation running from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes, drowning in with the hunger pain in his chest when Wooseok said those words. But now, Seungyoun heaved a sigh, it’s burdensome. He doesn’t know how to reply. 

He recalled a scene in a romantic movie he watched with his mother when he was watching her in the hospital; the man texted the woman after leaving for a prolonged time, saying he truly wanted to call her but in the end, he never did. The woman didn’t call him for once, she just deleted his message. Like the universe gave her no other choice. Like her longing and burning love for him has become tremendous waves crashing violently against the base of the crumbling cliffs of her heart and she had to let them go before she got drowned at the sea.

Seungyoun didn’t think he had to do the same thing, deleting every trail of a ghostly love. He no longer feels the need to do so.

But Seungyoun called back the next day. All the trivial talks about what they have been up to lately, how the book tour had worn Wooseok out with the constant moving and awful foreign food, how horrible clients make Seungyoun want to quit being a interior designer every now and then. For a lingering second, Seungyoun wanted to ask Wooseok why he said he missed him. Could it be someone at one of those book signing events who looks like Seungyoun or something else? Eventually, he hung up without asking. Anything could be the reason or there could have been none at all. When all is said and done, the most difficult thing to let go is feelings and so is the most difficult thing to gain back.

Hangyul knocked on his apartment door when the clock’s hands were moving towards midnight on a Saturday in November. His hair was soaked from the quenching rain and his lips were almost blue, remaining an uncharacteristic grim line as he kept shifting his weight on his feet. He greeted Seungyoun in a muttered voice, like his words were unwilling to take flight and Seungyoun nodded in return, stepping aside to open the door a little wider, noticing the glossy dejection in the younger’s eyes and a grey backpack slung on his left arm.

“Come in,” Seungyoun made a welcome gesture with his hand, “I’ll make you hot cocoa.”

“I need a place to stay,” Hangyul said, eyes fluttering shut then opening again as if he made up his mind in just two seconds, “Just a few days, hyung.”

Seungyoun didn’t reply, he just patted the younger on his arm instead of giving some words of comfort away.

Two days and a half is how long it took Seungyoun to finally address the cause of Hangyul’s sudden crashing into his apartment. They were eating cereal for breakfast at the old dining table, which has one or two loosen bits Seungyoun has reminded himself to fix yet nothing was done.

“Was it bad?” Seungyoun asked, his eyes glued on the violet bruise on Hangyul’s wrist and the younger followed his gaze.

“No, it was me,” Hangyul fidgeted in his seat, ‘I kinda bumped into the front door when I walked out.”

Seungyoun couldn't tell if Hangyul was being honest. He used to be able to read the younger through his words and his movement but time seems to wash off the traces of old habits and generously allows the younger to build a new facade. Even so, Seungyoun chose not to believe that things end in chaos and violence between Hangyul and Seungwoo, the older man has always been the voice of reasons and rational thinking among their circle of friends during their younger days. Seungwoo often reminds him of the color blue, the shade of the sky during a lovely autumn afternoon, a celebration of soft confidence that embraces calmness but also sensitivity whereas Hangyul is more of a bright yellow tone, a whirlwind of clarity and euphoria.

Yellow could into ochre, and Seungyoun doesn’t think the shade of burnt orange and sienna suits Hangyul.

“Your table is squeaky as hell, hyung, if you have a hammer and some glue, I could fix it.” Hangyul pointed at the loose leg, yanking Seungyoun out of his wandering thoughts and the other suddenly didn’t know how to respond.

“Uh, yeah, I think I have a hammer.”

“I’ll buy some sandpaper to take off the old glue when I come back tonight. It won’t take much time.”

Seungyoun decided to let Hangyul do whatever he wants to in his apartment.

Two weeks before Christmas, Seungyoun walked into the kitchen one morning, finding Hangyul still in his bed clothes, head hung low in front of the laptop and the coffee in the cup nearby had gone cold. The younger man was looking for a new job, Seungyoun wondered how thorny working at the same broadcast station as your ex-boyfriend would be, probably harder than he could ever imagine because it was a blessing in disguise that his career path and Wooseok’s writing track never crossed. Seungyoun bought a form-fitting burgundy dress shirt with long sleeves as a Christmas for Hangyul before the younger went to an interview.

“Good luck. And you can stay here as long as you need.”

Hangyul definitely said “Thank you” but his action afterwards was faster and stronger than his words, hit Seungyoun harder as well. The younger wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close into a tight embrace. Seungyoun found his hand gently stroking Hangyul’s back and allowed himself to revel in the warmth of his side, appreciative of the affectionate gesture. When they parted, Seungyoun felt the halted absence knocking into him like a wintry wind. The moment his mind wished he could keep the younger muffled around him like a well worn and comfy sweater for days, Seungyoun’s stomach twisted in a knot.

_Snap out of it._

Seungyoun watched the New Year’s firework burst through the velvet dark canvas of the night sky from the narrow balcony of his apartment while Hangyul was standing just a few inches beside him, eyes glistening as the shadows got swallowed by the diminishing darkness and arms folded as if he was trying to contain himself from expressing too much. And yet, in the gathering of starlight and the silvery moon and feeling the cool of the evening wash over them, Seungyoun told himself that Hangyul was far more sparkling and splendid than the stars that shine against the unfathomable blackness. 

Hangyul went on a team-bonding trip with his colleagues during the weekend in February and Seungyoun noticed how quiet it is in his apartment on a Saturday afternoon. On a normal weekday, when Seungyoun is so wrapped up in the concept, sketches or other digital drawings of his new projects, surrounded by nothing but papers and stained cups of coffee as the clock slowly but steadily marched towards the early morning of the next day, there was pleasant noise filling the whole flat. Hangyul came back from work after taking over-time hours, shuffling around the kitchen to heat up the leftovers and as soon as Seungyoun put down his headphones and heard the clinking melody of the spoon touching the edge of the mug, he knew Hangyul was about to knock on his work room door, offering some steaming chamomile tea with honey. Weekends are sort of more relaxing; if Hangyul doesn’t go to work, he would do meal-prepping for both of them and after dinner, they found themselves curling up on the long sofa, flipping through channels till Hangyul chose to re-watch Die Hard on Netflix and Seungyoun fell asleep before the movie ran towards the final arc with lousy gun firing and planes getting blown up. Blaring sounds from the TV didn’t bother him but the one time when Hangyul’s fingertips made a subdued landing on top of his head, unknowingly flaming up the fire in every bit of his skin, Seungyoun felt his entire flesh and bones more torn up than a shattered car in a cinematic chasing scene.

And the look that Hangyul gave him when the ending credits started rolling and the younger ever so tenderly nudged him to wake him up, Seungyoun thought he had seen gold and ignited red in his eyes.

Seungyoun reminded himself that Hangyul did tell him he was planning to move out but it was getting harder to believe at this point.

Seungyoun and Hangyul received Yohan’s wedding invitation letters when the blooming spring queen was in a hurry to leave the town and summer princess took the crown. Seungyoun pressed his thumb onto the lacy and sophisticated layout paper of the letter, wondering what Hangyul was thinking when the other was sitting still across him, resting his elbow on the edge of the dining table and scanning the invitation from left to right.

Seungyoun was happy for Yohan but he sensed it could be a challenging situation for Hangyul to attend the wedding ceremony. After graduation, their group barely met but still tried to keep in touch, so for an occasion like this, Seungyoun doubted anyone could be absent. That means Seungwoo would be there, obviously, not to mention Yohan practically worshiped the oldest like some kind of hero. Meeting the one you used to think of him as your soulmate after nearly half a year of compressed silence and withering communication seems like giving the cracks and fractures in the hollow sphere part of his rib-cage an opportunity to rupture and drop bit by bit to the bottom of his stomach.

The older man wished he was just overthinking.

The next day, Hangyul came home one day with a coffee grinder that looks like almost half a decade has imprinted its tracks on the handle. Seungyoun frowned, “Did you go dumpster diving? We aren’t that broke, you know?”

Hangyul didn’t bother to open his mouth to reply, or defend himself. He placed it on the machine and next thing Seungyoun knew, he involuntarily covered his ears to drown out the raucous sound of the grinder. Hangyul cracked a smile, enjoying the sight of Seungyoun suffering.

“See, hyung, not broken. Sixty percent off at the garage sale, that means sixty percent cooler for this kitchen, you know. I’m generous so I’m not gonna charge you for that. You can thank me later.”

“More like sixty percent crappier,” Seungyoun raised his eyebrows, “I bet it will be broken two days from now.”

Hangyul developed one of his signature lop-sided smiles and tapped on the cold, hard wooden surface, “What if it doesn’t?”

“It will.” 

“It won’t.”

“It will,” Seungyoun slapped Hangyul’s hand off the running grinder to stop the noise, “By the way, I’m going out to get a suit, if you think you need one to go to Yohan’s wedding, join me.”

One look at Hangyul’s stiffened face and Seungyoun realized that he didn’t actually overthink the day before.

“It’s not your job, you know, hyung,” Hangyul turned away to put the grinder into the cabinet, “To take care of me.”

And it clicked, something in Seungyoun’s tangled mind. The intent look Hangyul is directing him is the one he is pretty familiar with and he felt the urge to wipe it away. He couldn’t physically, or metaphorically do such a thing.

Seungyoun didn’t flinch when Hangyul sank down into his large bed, sighing loudly in relief and letting his body melt into the linen duvet cover. The faint scent of base notes of Hangyul’s cologne was dawdling around the room, innocently asking Seungyoun’s heart to take a leap. The rational thinking is to make a note in his phone reminder that says “Call the building technician to fix the air-conditioner in Hangyul’s room” but his brain is monitoring him to turn to his side so he could see the sculptured-like profile of the younger.

Seungyoun resisted, _hard._

“I’ve never seen Yohan so cool like today.” Hangyul spoke to the ceiling.

“Agreed.” Seungyoun muttered.

“You have stains on the ceiling, hyung,” Hangyul continued, a hint of amusement laced in his tone, “They look like shrimp.”

Seungyoun snorted. In the far back corner of his memory storage, there was a summer day in which the electricity went out and he was laying bare in the tiny bed with Wooseok. They were trying to sleep off the heat and Seungyoun couldn’t stand the scorching temperature so he moved away. Wooseok, even though he was sleeping, reaching out his hand and unable to touch Seungyoun, unconsciously shifted to be closer to him. Seungyoun struggled to get to the bed margins while Wooseok kept invading the space to close the gap between them, resulting in Seungyoun nearly falling off the bed. It was so trivial, yet funny. Seungyoun still smiles a bit whenever the memory floods back in an unconnected moment. There was a time Seungyoun thought if only Wooseok had the intention to reach out and keep him close, not in his sleep, but at times when both of them are wide awake and well aware of the apparent distance growing in between.

All the sentimental things that come and go, leaving the everlasting impressions in one’s treasure chest seem so depressing.

Hangyul flicked the fringe that is a little damp from the fresh shower and Seungyoun felt the burning heat starting somewhere again.

“What are you thinking, hyung?”

“Are you happy?”

Hangyul’s fingers drifting down Seungyoun’s tip of his ear kinda froze and Seungyoun quietly cursed his mouth. Reluctantly, Hangyul took his hand back, turning to lay on his back and facing the stained ceiling before he spoke.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy? Hyung, tell me.”

“I don’t know. I mean, are you sure this is where you want to be?”

Seungyoun waited. 

“I’m happy here.”

“Here?” Seungyoun could tell his heart is at the starting point, shifting and swaying in prepared position to take a giant leap.

“Even when we are still breathing the same air in the same city, even when there are still pieces of love left within us, we can’t go back to our old selves, can we? But I’m not bothered.”

Seungyoun remained silent. They can’t, plainly. Regardless of how cavernous and heavy the baggage of forbidden feelings might pull them down, how painful it causes when a summer breeze calls back memories from the faded time, people will just take the turns they choose and keep walking. But then, Seungyoun had hopes and dreams. Hopes that were formed from the heat crawling up his neck and prickling the tips of his ears, also the twirling sensation spreading across his body when Hangyul touches him longer than a minute. Dreams that are much like a black and white movie, here is a scene with Hangyul working in the kitchen, doing meal prepping and making smoothie, another scene is when Hangyul sitting in front of the TV in his tank top and a pair of sweatpants, the dip of his collarbone is on full display like an artifact at the museum, all played out on the stained ceiling to the soundtrack of Hangyul’s laugh.

Seungyoun chose not to believe that he was being hyper-aware of every moment Hangyul called his name with the honorific. Six months of staying together in a modest apartment has been stirring the feelings that Seungyoun makes out to not be ended until his body ceases to function, might as well brought things up to the surface that had always been there.

“Then what are you doing?”

“I bought you a coffee grinder that made your kitchen sixty percent cooler.”

“It broke after two days.” 

“Yeah. Just like how you predicted.”

“I bought it because I thought it could make you smile.”

Seungyoun wanted to tell Hangyul that they might break away and break each other’s heart at some point, repeating the chapter that they had left behind and moving foward without the people they think they can build a home with, but he turned to his side and shifted his body to be right next to Hangyul’s frame, their skin slightly touched and Seungyoun closed his eyes for a moment, one hundred percent conscious of the instant burn.

“Watching that machine from hell torture you and flee down the floor when you tried to hold it together was fun. Peak body comedy.”

“I know, hyung. You put me and my struggle on your Instagram story.”

“Stay with me.” Seungyoun whispered into the dark.

“I couldn't imagine anywhere else I want to be.”


End file.
